Silent Screaming
by Phoenyx
Summary: John Allerdyce has been with Magneto for about a month. He looks back on his times at the mansion and thinks about a lost love, only to find that it might not be lost after all... (Pyro/OC... please read, review and please be nice, it's my first fic...)
1. Author's note

Hey people, just to let you guys know, the other character in this story that I paired John with is my own creation. I don't own John (though I wish I did.). Here is my character's profile;  
  
Name: Corenna (Cory) O'Leary Age: 16 Hair: Straight, black, cut just above the shoulders Eyes: Bright, pearly blue. Sometimes blue/green. Mutation: Has the ability to transport, like Kurt, only does it using energy. Very complicated. Ok, not very, but oh well. History: Unknown  
  
In this fic (and in many if not all of my others), Cory is paired with John. If you don't like this then don't read my fanfics. 


	2. Looking back

' 'Life is short.' A common phrase, used everywhere, everyday. It is preached along the sides of streets, echoing of the unseen walls of life, falling upon deaf ears. But how many in this world live by such a well-known piece of mind? Very few, if any. People can be seen and heard as they address these words, telling everyone around them to live life to the fullest, unaware of the impact their speeches make on certain others. Their words may be empty, lifeless, but they are heard loud and clear.  
I used to live by this phrase. Too much, in fact. Everything in my possession I took for granted. I used to be taught about mercy, compassion, love -- at a mutant school founded by a gifted yet crippled telepath -- even though I barely knew what the words meant. I had never experienced them, how should I know what they stood for? But they were taught to me, and to all the other closed-minded students at that wretched school. The teachers themselves didn't know how much it hurt, to hear those words and have them remind you of the lack of them you got. For people like me it was especially hard -- growing up on the streets is never easy. But to be reminded of your past each day, to be haunted by all the things you tried so desperately to forget... It burns like acid, tearing a hole through your chest.  
They were called the X-men, the teachers at that school. I used to be one of them, in training at least. They were taught how to control their powers, and were sent on missions to protect the ones who hated them the most -- humans. They - we - fought to protect them, knowing that the humans themselves would kill us without a second thought. Everyone at the school thought it was great, how we were so kind and loving so as to protect people who hated us by fighting against our own kind. All but very few. I was one of those few. I thought it was absurd. Why protect the kind of people who would just as easily and happily kill us? What was the point of risking our lives for them? They go out of their way to make every aspect of life difficult for us while we go out of our way to save them and their measly little world from devastation.  
Of course, that was only one of the reasons that others at the school looked down on me. There, I was a sinner, a screw-up, a total inane loser. I was the mistake of every good deed. The one who never did anything right. I used my powers too often, on the wrong people, for the wrong reasons, and the wrong times, and I got more than I deserved for it. I was known as evil. Everyone expected me to turn spontaneously to the dark side and start fighting against them. The names and insults wouldn't usually hurt me that much, if at all. But this time it did. Because all of them -- down to the smallest child in the hallway calling me a freak, a devil's advocate -- were right.  
I was a bad guy. The whole time that I was locked up in that cursed school I was a bad guy. I just never figured it out before. It took me over half a month to realize I didn't belong with the X-men. They wanted to control their powers, I wanted to use mine to the fullest. They wanted to protect the human killing machines; I wanted nothing to do with them. 'Let them feel the same torture they put us through every damned day.' Magneto told me that. Just a month ago he'd said those exact words on the helicopter that took me away from that school and its worthless students, who, as far as I'm concerned, can burn their asses in hell. I remember that scene as if it was yesterday, looking out the window down at all the helpless mutants staring up at us, watching us fly away. They couldn't see me, thank God -- I wouldn't have been able to bear their expressions of pure hatred as they realized what I had finally done. Not that I haven't been looked at like that before. What scares me the most is, I didn't care about the X-men. And I never did.  
Ok, so that's not completely true. There was one of them, specifically, that I cared for. I cared for her so much, in fact, that it destroyed me. And as far as I know, it destroyed her too. When I first saw her, I could've sworn her mutant power was being beautiful. Short, jet- black hair, bone straight, fell just past her ears and over her gorgeously defined features. Her bright blue eyes shone deeper than sapphires, and held more pent-up emotion than I could ever imagine. She was a teleporter -- and a good one at that. She could disappear quicker and quieter than you could blink, and be back with two flipped open bottles of soda before you could start breathing again. In the shadows, she was everything but invisible, for in her mutant form, her jet-black skin blended perfectly against the inky darkness. Her senses were magnified practically one hundred fold, and she left them anything but unused. Besides her mutant power, she was an extraordinary acrobat, and portrayed herself to all others as a tough, badass, "screw you all I don't care" kind of mutant, but that was only on the outside. Being as close to her as I was, only I saw her on the inside as well. For behind her glittering eyes there were pools of pain so deep they had no bottom. I caught her crying once, and no matter how much she denied it, I knew I had temporarily snuck past her walls of defense. Inside of her was just a girl -- a sad, lonely girl, filled with emotions of pain and hurt like others at the school couldn't even have imagined, let alone experienced. And I loved her. I loved her, both sides of her, inside and out, with all my heart and soul. I cared for her like I never thought I could.  
And then there was the fight. More or less, it was the main reason why I ended up in Magneto's helicopter that day a near-month ago. We had a stupid argument. I cared for her too much, and apparently I treated her like a child. I won't deny that I did treat her like a young kid, but I had never loved before, and I didn't know how to handle it. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the thought of losing her, so I kept her as close to me as I could, afraid of seeing her hurt. She took this badly, and accused me of being overprotective. She claimed to be able to take care of herself and told me flat out that she didn't need a bodyguard. I knew she was tough. I knew she was able to protect herself. But I just couldn't let her go. It was too hard for me.  
So she left. Not left in the sense that she moved away because she hated me so much (though I don't doubt she would have), but left temporarily. Probably for a walk. The fact is, she never came back. It was that evening that I realized she wasn't going to return. I was completely devastated -- I didn't eat, and hardly slept. When I did I was troubled by the nightmares that lingered in my mind. Kurt was as bad off as me, but at least he had his precious God to pray to -- someone I personally wasn't and never had been blessed with. The professor tried tracking her with Cerebro, only to end up unsuccessful. Logan, Kurt and I tried the old fashioned way of finding her (looking), and that, too, did no good. I was the first to give up hope, knowing that If she didn't want to be found, we wouldn't find her. Kurt was the last.  
When it finally sunk in to all of us that she was most likely never coming back, silence haunted the mansion day after day. And during this piercing silence was when I decided my place in life. There was nothing left for me at the school. Nothing to fight for, to live for. Nothing left to love. So I gave up my supposedly good ways, much to Kurt's dismay, and left, no longer pursuing my dead-end dream of a neutral life. I had to choose a side, for the humans wouldn't accept me as is. It was either good guys or bad guys. And weighing in the facts that the good guys hated my guts and my only form of support was gone, you can only suspect which side I chose. What was the point of protecting people who all deep down wanted to slay you and smear your red blood over the ground? Why protect them? No one was left to help me along anyway. The one and only person I had ever loved and who loved me back was gone. Probably forever.'  
  
~~ * ~~ 


	3. The Newcomer

Dismal, green eyes peered through the only window in the bedroom and scanned the familiar scenery on the outside. A progression of small hills, plastered with bright, fresh grass loomed over the rest of the land, bordered with overhanging shadows in the fading sunlight. As the sun resolutely buried itself behind the darkening horizon, a sad nostalgia settled upon the gloomy scene and the owner of the green eyes looked quickly away from the same landscape he'd been looking at everyday for the past month. They locked onto a spot on the wooden floorboards of the room, doggedly inspecting the cracks and crevices between each one.  
A faint series of soft clicks resounded within the small space as the young man fished his lighter out of his pocket and tensely flicked it open and closed with the back of his thumb. The small sound rebounded off the walls, bouncing frantically back and forth in a quick echo. The boy shifted anxiously in his chair, tapping the heel of his shoe on the ground in nervous agitation of his master's return.  
As if on cue, the bedroom door swung open to reveal a white haired man, well into his fifties, standing smugly in the doorframe with his arms locked across his chest. He grinned down at the boy, slightly amused at the young man's facade of puzzlement etched onto his handsome face.  
"John, my boy," he stated firmly, "we have obtained a new prisoner."  
Any trace of anticipation that had once been imprinted onto the boy's face quickly disappeared. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and half- heartedly shoved his lighter into his back pocket before getting up to drag himself along after the white-haired man. How many people did they have to kill before Magneto was happy? John looked up from the floor he trudged over to glare daggers at the back of the old man's head. The man was a killing machine, only taking pleasure in the torture and death of others. It hurt to stand there watching, as one by one all the "test subjects," as they were called, broke. Or, as a more common term, died.  
The two mutants rounded the corner into the hallway that led directly into the chambers. It was there all the captives were taken, beaten, experimented on, and eventually, killed. John cringed visibly as memories of the past month flooded back to him. Just last week it had been a young boy, barely ten years old at the most, chained with metal links to a cold stone wall. He'd been tested, subject to concoctions Magneto had come up with to try and improve the mutant ability. One of them was too much -- too strong -- and the boy had died of a violent seizure mere moments after the injection.  
John snapped out of his haunting memories as he saw Magneto stop in front of the last cell in the room they had come to. He stood there proudly beaming down at his catch, arms still crossed, a smug grin plastered onto his face that John would have happily ripped off with his own bare hands. The metal bars of the cage parted like the graceful movements of water with a wave of Magneto's hand, and he entered the chamber, flicking his cape snidely so as not to brush it against the filthy steel. John leaned back against the side of the cage, facing the opposite way of the entrance, unwilling to face the scene that had been laid out before him so many times before. There was always the tortured body, the pain-streaked face, the torn clothes to match the equally battered heart and soul. He didn't know if he could bear it again.  
Magneto naturally objected to John's lack of participation. "My dear Pyro, do you not wish to greet our newcomer?" He smiled maliciously at the young man before returning his gaze to the ground where John could only suspect the captive was lying.  
John didn't turn around, let alone flinch at Magneto's blatant distaste. "Not particularly, no."  
"Oh, but I must insist." The corners of the old man's mouth flicked again into a cruel grin. If only John could get close enough to wrap that damn smile around his neck... the boy clenched his fists at his sides as Magneto continued. "I believe she will be here for a while."  
At this last comment, John started a little, wrenching his fiery gaze from the stone wall in front of him to look piercingly at Magneto, careful not to catch any glimpse of the figure on the ground. He knew all to well that any little glance would trigger memories that John had been trying so hard to forget.  
"She?" John's eyes didn't stray from the old man's but stayed locked, his eyebrows furrowed in obvious disgust. "You've never found the heart to torment a girl before, Erik."  
Another smirk. "Not while you've had the pleasure of being here, no."  
The man motioned with his hand for John to enter the cell. Rolling his eyes, John complied, aware that he would regret it later in the night when he attempted to fall asleep. He stepped silently over the bent metal bars on the ground to place himself a reasonable measure away from Magneto, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he hesitantly dropped his gaze down to the floor.  
What he saw took every breath from his lungs. It did every time. The battered body of a girl, no younger than John himself, lay curled up defensively in the corner of the stone cage. Around her bruised wrists tight shackles were bound, linking her to the wall with metal chains. Torn shreds of clothes draped off her thin frame, and it was quite obvious that she had been deprived of food for quite some time. A deep gash on her shoulder bled unremittingly down her arm, turning it a bright red, coloring the rock ground and standing out as if it was in a black and white photo. Another wound had buried itself on her left temple, blood making its way down her cheek, mingling with her jet black hair that lay limply about her shoulders. John shuddered as a wave of pity for the poor girl washed over him. Magneto only laughed cruelly and kicked her hard in the stomach.  
A heart-wrenching cry of agony escaped the young girl's lips and John flinched, watching tears of pain stream down the girl's face. Magneto struck her again, fiercer this time, and John's hand shot out to grasp the old man's arm tightly.  
"Stop it." The words were forced out of John's gritted teeth as his wide eyes gazed concernedly down at the tortured girl. Magneto searched the boy's face, confused.  
"My dear boy, if you are to fight like us, if you are to become one of us, you must learn to deal with the pain of others."  
John opened his mouth to answer, but closed it quickly, unsure of how to respond. 'You must learn to deal with the pain of others.' What if he didn't want to learn how to deal with it? Why did he have to deal with it in the first place? The boy glared daggers at the cold ground as Magneto wrenched his arm free of his death grip and haughtily exited the cell, his cape flipping almost mockingly at his heels. John quickly followed, unable to shake the feeling that he knew the girl that was lying agonized on the cage floor, and the metal bars shifted easily back into their places. The heartless old man made his way down the hallway, his rapid footsteps echoing disdainfully off the metal walls. John continued the opposite way, half in a daze of memories and flashes that haunted him from the sight he'd just seen, walking slowly and silently towards his own room. It was going to be a very long night.  
  
~~ * ~~ 


	4. Dreaming

'He gazed down silently through the glass window, the thundering of the helicopter's blades blasting in his ears. Children and adults alike, ones that he recognized from the school, had started to file out of the weather-beaten building that seemed to be quickly disappearing in the thick fog. Tears stung behind his eyes, and he fought to keep them from dropping as he caught the gaze of a familiar face, looking sadly up at him from below -- a friend he was sure he'd never see again. But for now she stood motionless, locking eyes with him, nothing but utter sorrow hidden within her black orbs. He pleaded a silent goodbye as he watched her, asking her speechlessly if this was ok. If leaving them was ok. She responded hesitantly with a distant smile, her cheerless eyes never leaving his own as she was swallowed up in the growing fog.  
But the fog didn't fade away. It kept swirling, like a hurricane, enveloping the hazy scene that had been set around him. He watched in fascination and in fear as the inside of the hovering machine slipped away into the clouds, and he noticed the humming of the blades above was long gone. He was completely surrounded in white, and the extreme lack of color suddenly reminded him of being in an insane asylum; not a wonderful feeling. A piercing silence followed, ringing in his ears like chiming bells, making him want to scream. But the stillness didn't last long. Out of nowhere, a faceless voice spoke to him in his thoughts, haunting him with it's nauseating familiarity. It's words repeated in the back of his brain, echoing within his head. The sound burned a hole in his chest deeper than any acid could have.  
'You can't keep using your powers like this, John. They were not meant to be weapons. They will easily lead you to the dark side if this continues...'  
He'd heard it before. This had happened before. He whirled around looking for the culprit, one who had spoken, but there was no one. Only white. More voices joined the first, taunting him, mocking his very being. They jeered at him, all too memorable insults being hurled left and right.  
  
'Face it, flame-boy. You're pure evil.'  
'You're a killing machine, John. A cold blooded murderer.'  
'You can't do nothin' right, can you, boy?'  
At every sound, every word inserted into his mind, he turned to face it, but saw nothing. The blank whiteness formed walls around him, locking him in, closing slowly in on him. He screamed in agony as more voices came, pulling at his hair and clutching his head in a failing attempt to kill the penetrating thoughts. His legs buckled beneath him and he dropped limply to the ground, writhing like a maimed animal. Each word spoken was like a knife, burying itself in his stomach, piercing his flesh, his very soul. Slowly, ever so slowly, the poor boy was going crazy. He could take no more. Compliantly, the voices began to fade.  
One by one they faded into the fog of his mind, echoing, resounding within his brain. Hesitantly he brought his hands away from his head, his green irises darting wildly around, rimmed with incoherent madness. He blinked hard, trying to make his eyes focus on the new scene that had started to rise around him. Demolishing the last of his insanity, his eyes complied, but soon enough he abruptly wished they hadn't.  
For around him began a more recent scene. A time he had been eager to forget. Stone walls appeared quickly around him, hung with linked, metal chains that were attached to a very small, very familiar little boy. The boy's violet eyes, once teeming with life, rolled involuntarily back into his head. His short brown hair stuck out in various directions, in some parts sticking straight up; in others, flat against the falling tears of sweat on his forehead. Gruesome lacerations bled from every limb on his broken body, coloring the dull ground with a bright red liquid. And somewhere within the depths of the rising cage stood Magneto, arms crossed over his chest, a cruel, proud grin plastered onto his face. And suddenly, a scream resounded throughout the cell.'  
  
John Allerdyce bolted upright in his bed, gentle moonlight from his bedroom window gleaming off the beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face. After taking a moment to realize he was no longer in the chambers, he brought a shaky hand to his forehead and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. His breathing was short and ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound throbbing inside his ears. A nightmare. Only a nightmare.  
Unsteady hands ripped the covers off his legs and he stood slowly, leaning on his nightstand for much needed support. He made his way to the doorway, his parched mouth dragging in rapid breaths as if he'd just run the mile in under two minutes. For a while, he leaned in the doorframe, trying to catch his breath and brushing off his face with his shirt sleeve. Only after his green irises had completely focused did he start down the wooden hallway.  
The young man wasn't sure exactly where he was trying to get to, but made his way slowly down the narrow corridor all the same. If he ended up in the kitchen, wonderful; he'd get a beer and move on. If he landed in the basement, fine; he'd beat up a punching bag. If he landed in the chambers -- John shook his head defiantly, refusing to think about the cells anymore. He'd had his share of those for the rest of his life, as far as he was concerned.  
Rounding the corner, the juvenile mutant stopped thoughtfully and put a hand up to lean heavily against the side wall. Did he really want to elude the thought of the chambers? He was going to have to face them sometime. He couldn't keep avoiding them as if they didn't exist. They did exist. Each damn cell, each damn bird cage locked up inside those chambers had, at one time, contained an innocent child, a living, breathing soul that had been tortured and beaten until their once energetic eyes rolled as far back into their head as physically possible. Every one had been dealt with gruesomely, with searing gashes torn through their skin in various places on all of their limbs; each one dead without a funeral. St. John cringed. He couldn't avoid that. He couldn't pretend that the pointless killing of countless, innocent children wasn't really happening. Because it was.  
Quickly, Pyro whirled around and walked hastily in the opposite direction. He knew where he was going.  
  
~~ * ~~ 


	5. Fear

John's soft footsteps echoed almost inaudibly as he padded slowly down the seemingly endless hallway. The metal walls of the corridor mocked him with silence, and he took a hesitant step backwards in uncertainty, his head slightly cocked to the side. He tended to do this a lot when he was nervous. Tall steel doors leered gloomily over his head as he stood in the narrow passage, the darkness nearly challenging him to continue -- which John almost reluctantly ended up doing, knowing he'd most likely regret it later.  
Though he probably would have died before admitting it, John was, in fact, quite intimidated. He didn't exactly know what by, but he was fairly frightened. It could have been the darkness, the silence, or even the excessive use of shiny metal, he didn't know. Or maybe it was the increasingly deepening doubt in his stomach that he was actually doing the right thing.  
John shook his head resolutely. He was doing the right thing. He HAD to be. But what if he wasn't? What if all of this was a mistake? Even if it was, he couldn't turn back now, whether it was really physically impossible or not. He couldn't stand to see another innocent die. Not again.  
A sharp turn in the hallway brought John to a halt. He'd heard something -- a faint noise from somewhere not far in front of him. He cocked his head again, closing his eyes to try and concentrate on the still silence, waiting for another sound. But none came. He stood like that, motionless, for so long to no avail that he began to doubt that he'd heard anything at all. But not long after came the same quiet murmur he'd heard before, resonating off the empty walls. A telepathic whisper.  
He allowed a slight chuckle to escape his lips -- 'a telepathic whisper.' He grinned inwardly (as well as outwardly) at his instantaneous comparison to Professor Xavier, remembering all the many confrontations they'd had in his office. Obviously, none of them had been pleasant, for most of them had occurred because of the mere fact that John had once again done something wrong. His first "chat" had been for talking back to a teacher; his last for burning down the gym.  
John's smirk quickly disappeared, and he cringed. 'My last.' That little visit with the professor had been one of the few things that had triggered John to make his final decision to leave with Magneto. Along with others, of course, mainly concerning his recently lost girlfriend. No, not girlfriend. That common title didn't do her enough justice.  
Now that he thought about it, the whole "burning down the gym" thing hadn't really been his fault, though he hadn't even tried to explain that to anyone. They wouldn't have believed him anyway. Everything that went wrong at the school somehow ended up being connected to him in one way or another. It's not like he minded being the school scapegoat, but it didn't take long for it to really get to him that he was hated. Really hated -- by nearly everyone, even though some tried their best not to show it.  
A third sound, softer this time (if that was possible) resounded through the once silent corridor, interrupting John's train of thought. Slowly, he brought himself to follow it, despite the feeling that each of his ankles was bound tightly to a 50 pound lead brick. He hadn't the slightest clue where he was going, and didn't care -- that was, of course, until realization hit him like a truck. The sounds were coming from the chambers.  
Something clicked in John's mind, and he quite literally smacked himself on the forehead with his palm. He was afraid. All this time of avoiding the chambers was spent trying to convince himself that it was the torture of various children that repelled him. It wasn't. At the school he would have paid to see bloodshed. To see a good gore movie. But something in him had changed. Something had made him afraid. And he hated the feeling more than anything else.  
He finally admitted it. John Allerdyce, tough guy, cocky, sadistic, egomaniac of the school had finally admitted to himself that he was afraid of something. And he was quite surprised that he'd pulled it off without severely maiming something. What would they think, all the mutants at his old school? What would they say if they saw him now, faintly shaking involuntarily in the piercing darkness of an abandon hallway? No doubt they'd laugh. He could almost hear Jubilee screaming at the top of her lungs; "I told you so! I told you he was evil! And look! He's practically dying of fright!" And Rogue would be there, glaring at him disdainfully whenever she gathered the courage to meet his eyes. And Bobby...  
A violent shudder traveled up John's spine. Bobby. His best friend. What would he think? What was he thinking when he realized that John had given up on the X-men? That he'd joined the so-called "forces of evil?" John didn't care to know what he thought. He'd regret it if he knew.  
But then again, since when did the infamous John Allerdyce care what anyone thought? Since when did anyone's opinion matter to him aside from his own? He was entirely capable of taking care of himself. He was completely able to make his own decisions. Yet wasn't it his own worthless, utterly stupid idea to join Magneto in the first place? Nice going.  
Mentally shaking off his fear and doubts, at least temporarily, John hesitantly started off down the somewhat intimidating hallway. Complete silence surrounded him, making him want to scream just to reassure himself that he wasn't deaf. No other sounds from the chambers came, no silent echoes from the settling mansion resounded, no half-heard whispers played inside his head. Nothing but silence, ringing like church bells inside his ears.  
Another corner. A doorway. A metal frame hanging coldly above his head. John looked at it, his eyes following the smooth, ideal surface of the glimmering steel. He slowly brought his hand up to rest on the metal, closing his eyes and running his fingers up and down the flawless beam. Maybe he was purposely wasting time, hesitant to enter the chambers that he stood numbly in front of. Maybe he was lost in thought. Maybe he wanted to know what it was like to be perfect.  
Straining seconds ticked by. Precious time flew like a summer breeze, away into oblivion, as the young mutant slowly reopened his flashing green eyes. He drew his hand away from the doorframe, his gaze set defiantly towards the room in front of him. Hearing a small mutter from the farthest cage, he silently staggered forward, almost tripping on the obstacles of doubt that remained within his head. Nothing but the absence of sound greeted him as he continued down the room, staring wide- eyed at the last cell, his locked gaze never wavering. Hesitantly, cautiously, he peered around the corner, through the metal bars that stood like the barrier of a cage at a local zoo. His shaking hands found the cold steel rods as he scanned the piercing darkness within, his fiery irises darting wildly around before landing on a figure huddled tightly in the corner. A figure so memorable, so real, that it was near to impossible to believe. And so familiar. So damn familiar. And suddenly, it clicked. John knew what he was afraid of. 


	6. Betrayal

It was her. It had to be. The black hair, the thin lips, pressed together in a tight line. The hair was long -- not like hers -- but it had the same glistening dullness, the same mild thickness, bone straight and bluish at the ends. Her eyes were shut, her forehead creased in what looked like deep concentration, or maybe even pain -- more likely the latter, given her conditions. Her shirt, once whole, hung loosely off her thin frame, torn at the shoulders and ripped more than once across the back. Strapped around her waist were faded shorts, no doubt long pants at one time, shredded and slashed into almost more than one piece. Her arms and legs were bruised from countless beatings, and various gashes bled freely on her shoulders and neck, dried blood mingling with the beads of sweat on her forehead. She had one hand balled into a fist and pressed firmly against her right temple; the other wrapped tensely around her knees, which were held against her chest. And there she sat, curled into a defensive ball in the darkest corner of the cell, looking more fragile than a sheet of glass and more hurt than a reprimanded dog with it's tail between it's legs.  
  
But it couldn't be her. It wasn't possible. She was dead. She had left the mansion and she hadn't come back. They'd looked everywhere; even Cerebro couldn't find her. She had been wiped completely off the face of the Earth itself. She looked younger, helpless, delicate; completely opposite of what she used to be. If it was her at all.  
  
From outside the cage, it almost looked as if the cell was empty. The girl had pressed herself as far into the dark corner as she could. All that was left visible were a few dismal features on her once lively face, softly highlighted by the dimmed lights hanging from the ceiling. John's eyes were wide as he watched her, his breathing labored, his knuckles white as he clamped them around the metal bars of the cage. Without taking his eyes off the huddled figure, he brought a hand over to the wall next to the cell and opened the top to the keypad that lay there. The cap flipped open with a faint click, and blindly he punched in the numbers 58226 before bringing his hand down to wrap once again around the steel rods in front of him. He half-consciously noticed the gate next to him open with the soft 'clang' of metal hitting metal, and almost reluctantly tore his gaze away from the girl to stumble inside the cell.  
  
The door remained open as John staggered into the dim-lit cage. The girl had not moved; her eyes were still tightly shut, her arm holding her legs against her chest. Her right hand continued to press firmly against her temple, and she showed no signs of even knowing that someone had entered the room. John found that he preferred it that way; he didn't know what to do in the first place.  
  
Slowly, silently, John kneeled down in front of the curled up figure, tentatively reaching out a hand to rest on the girl's shaking arm. She drew back violently, wrenching away from the touch as if it was poison, and snapped her head up to face the shocked boy. Fear etched itself into her face, her wide blue eyes rimmed with panic as she squeezed herself farther into the corner. John held his hands back, afraid of hurting her, and looked into the girl's eyes, looking for any trace of humanity, a trace of life, of heart and soul.  
  
He found it. And he knew.  
  
"...Cory?"  
  
The girl's head rose up, her gaze having drifted to the floor tiles not long before. Her mouth twitched down into a thoughtful frown and her eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to grab at a memory that lie just our of her reach. Bright irises, still edged with terror, flickered with what John thought was recognition, but his doubting mind pushed the trivial idea from his head; until, of course, the girl he thought he knew reached for his hand...  
  
"I always knew you'd betray us, Pyro."  
  
Simultaneously, John and the girl's heads snapped in the direction of the voice, John still kneeling and the girl's hand continuing to hover over his own. The boy's eyes widened as they caught sight of an old man, graying hair slicked back from his forehead and a purple and red cape flowing down from his shoulders. A shudder ran up John's spine, and he stood shakily, sidestepping in front of the girl, who hadn't moved.  
  
"Hey, Mags," he said, forcing his voice to stay even and nonchalant. Magneto merely frowned.  
  
"You're planning on leaving, aren't you, boy?"  
  
"Now, why would I go and do a thing like that? Where else would I go?" John mentally cursed himself for sounding so desperate. Was he that transparent? He flashed a sadistic smirk in an attempt to cover his nervousness.  
  
"Oh, to the mansion, perhaps? I don't doubt that was your intention."  
  
"It wasn't," John replied, rather coldly. His eyes strained to sneak a glimpse at the girl, Cory, his Cory, but he knew it would be risking too much. Then again, Magneto already knew, so what did it matter? He had been planning to return to the mansion, and he had every intention of taking Cory, the girl beside him, along with him; but how had Magneto known? Was it just a lucky guess?  
  
"It's no use lying to me, boy," Magneto sneered, crossing his arms across his chest. "I can see right through you. You got fed up with our little experiments, and decided to try and end our progress once and for all by running back to the same man you ran away from."  
  
"You call this progress?!" John snapped angrily. He was well aware of the fact that he had just proved Magneto's suspicion correct, but at this point he was beyond caring. "This is a human being, Eric. Not an experiment, not a test. She's one of us! She's a mutant, damnit, how the hell can you do this to one of your own kind?!"  
  
"It's for our own good, John. Don't you see it? By working on one of our own kind, we can improve the powers of mutants all around the globe. With our advancements, mutants will become more powerful than any measly little human could ever imagine."  
  
"You're sick." John spat the words out with such distaste that even Magneto himself was slightly surprised. The young boy's lip curled up in disgust, his fists clenched in anger. "This isn't work. This is torture."  
  
Magneto heaved a heavy sigh. "I cannot let you interrupt my plans for the future of our kind. If I must get rid of you, boy, I will."  
  
"Burn in hell."  
  
John flew backwards into the wall behind him seconds after the words fell from his lips. His belt, ringed with metal, his chain necklace and bracelets were pinning him against the metal side of the cage, his ankles strapped with stray pieces of steel that had risen and bolted themselves into the wall. Magneto, grinning condescendingly, held his hand outstretched in front of him and stepped slowly through the open cell door.  
  
"I gave you more than one chance to join us." Three small beads of metal, roughly the size of marbles, flew up to hover above Magneto's open palm. "You took none of them. As much as I respect your decision-" the marble-shaped metal balls spun rapidly around, forming a circle above the elderly man's hand- "I can't have you running back to Charles and informing him of my plans."  
  
One of the steel marbles shot forward, piercing John's left shoulder and causing the boy to let out a cry of pain. The marble did not go through his shoulder, however, but it burrowed into his flesh, slithering it's way down his arm just beneath his skin. Magneto smiled cruelly as the boy in front of him writhed in torment, watching in evident satisfaction.   
  
A second marble dug into John's other shoulder, following the same kind of path as the first, until both marbles burst out of his John's palms. The boy screamed, clenching his fists over his wounds and biting his lip to keep from crying. Magneto continued to stand in silence, boredly twirling the metal marbles in the air.  
  
John's vision was clouding over, from pain or loss of blood, or even both. His head was bowed, hanging limply down to his chest. He raised it, with much effort, just in time to see the older man in front of him send yet another steel ball through the air, this time aimed for John's stomach. It hit; and the excruciating pain spread like poison through all of his limbs. His body felt as if it had been set on fire, the flames licking at his skin, and he heard himself let out a shriek of torment. But there was something else; an explosion, something exploding through a nearby wall, the murmurs and whimpering of the girl beside him, and the familiar sound of adamantium claws unsheathing themselves from their built-in case; all of them being the last things he heard before he was completely enfolded in darkness. 


	7. Author's note 2

Just an author's note to my reviewers:  
  
Pichuc11224: Thanks a lot! I agree, Pyro does rock. He's my favorite character from the movie. He's better in the movie than the comics, though I do like the Australian accent to an extent... Anyway, thanks for reviewing. Update for the next chapter is coming, so be patient, because it might take a little while.  
  
Tobyas: Thanks for the compliment, Yuy. Keep reading!  
  
Hawk Martin: Thanks, Tro. I appreciate you taking your time to write me a review at 12:16 in the morning, lol. Keep reading, and review. Please. I'm desperate. And yes, John must have a difficult time being an egomaniac. And yes, I will have fun with him. Not like that, you perv.  
  
Firestarter: Nice pen name. And I will. :)  
  
Dont-eat-chunky-pudding: Lol, I love the pen name! Thanks, and yes, I will review your story. If I haven't already. And if I have, I will again.  
  
Kumiko *Kaylin* Eharu: Thanks so much! I will try and update soon, but I'm not sure how long it will take. I'm glad you like it!  
  
Wicked-Wytch: Thanks! Yes, Pyro is awesome, lol. And thanks for letting me know about the anonymous reviews thing. And no, you weren't way off on the spelling, just change the second o to a y. Hehe. I'm not wonderful at spelling either... you should see me at school. :P I'll be sure to read your story as well!  
  
Thank you very much to all who reviewed. Please keep reviewing, constructive criticism greatly appreciated, flames are not.   
  
~Phoenyx 


	8. Hope

It seemed merely a few seconds later that John felt a soft, feathery pillow resting beneath his head. His eyes shot open, suspecting the worst, only to be quickly greeted with a blinding light shining from the ceiling down onto his face. He groaned loudly, raising his arm to shade his burning irises from the piercing glow, and rolled onto his side. A metal table laid beneath him, cold and hard, and the walls were metal as well, causing panic to surge through his veins; was he still with Magneto? What had he done to Cory? What the hell was going on? Shaking slightly, the blonde-headed boy decided to find out for himself.  
  
Quite unfortunately, it was only after he'd rolled of the metallic table when John realized that he could barely walk. He almost laughed.  
  
Untangling his legs and roughly pulling himself up with aid from the table, John (with much difficulty) made his way slowly to the door. Anxiety twisted his stomach into knots inside his chest. What if he was still with Magneto? What would the man do to him, now that John had betrayed him? Afraid that he might start hyperventilating, John took a deep breath and forced the thoughts out of his head, only then noticing that there was someone outside of the room. He stopped at the open door, cocking his head at the voices that drifted to his ears.  
  
"You know if he'll be ok, doc?"  
  
"I can't be sure, Logan. He could wake up anytime from now until next month, with the information I'm getting."  
  
'Logan.' John's heart shot into his chest. Logan was here. And the other voice sounded a lot like Jean. That meant he wasn't with Magneto... the boy sighed heavily, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall as relief washed over him. But still... his eyes shot open. Where was Cory?  
  
In a burst of determination, John stepped out of the metallic room to enter a very familiar hallway. 'The school,' he thought, happier than he ever thought he could be at seeing the place again, 'I'm at the bloody school.' He turned his gaze to the side of him, where (as he had suspected) Logan and Jean were whispering back and forth, as if they were afraid to wake someone. Probably him... neither of the two had noticed that John was there.  
  
"But he will wake up, right? Y' know, eventually?"  
  
John watched almost timidly as Logan took a smoldering cigar out of his mouth, and the blonde boy wondered why Jean didn't scold him for smoking in the mansion. He smirked, images of previous arguments Jean and Logan had had over that cigar flashing in his head. A reply from the doctor, however, broke into his thoughts.  
  
"Most likely. We don't even know that for sure. It's possible that..."  
  
The redhead trailed off, her gaze slipping from Logan's face to his shoulder and past. Straight at John.  
  
"Oh... oh, God. John... how long have you been there?"  
  
Without waiting for a response, the young woman brushed passed Logan as he spun around to face the younger boy. John simply bit his lip distractedly as Jean gently grabbed his arm.  
  
"Come on, let's get you back into bed," she said softly, almost nervously pulling him back into the room. "You need to-"  
  
"Jean, ah, Dr. Grey," he interrupted, hastily correcting his mistake, "is... I need to..."  
  
Jean stopped, looking at the boy with an inquiring expression. "Yes?" Her face was concerned; not so much for the boy, but as if she was afraid of holding a conversation. John knew why. 'I'm evil now,' he said to himself. 'They think I don't want to be here. They think I'm gonna try something.'   
  
He grinned impishly in an attempt to ease the tension between them, gently shrugging Jean's hand off his arm. "Dr. Grey, calm down. It's not like I'm gonna make a break for it." John saw the woman visibly relax, and a sad smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you, call me Jean," she said, prompting him to recall all the times she'd done so in the past.  
  
'Ah, the mood has lightened. Mission complete.' "Sure thing," he said aloud, sending a mischievous wink in her direction. Jean's smirk grew into a smile, and she sighed.  
  
"That's the John I remember."  
  
Logan piped up from behind the two, blowing out a puff of smoke and eyeing John with an uncomfortably amused expression. "I dunno, I think I liked 'im better when he was asleep." John glared at the man, pursing his lips irritatedly, earning but a smirk from Logan. "Get in there, bub," Logan added, after exchanging a glance with Jean. "Dr. Grey needs t' check you over."  
  
John's face turned serious as Jean started leading him to the metal table, and once again he shrugged her off. "Cory," he said, mentally cursing his voice for sounding so shaky. "Is she..."  
  
"Fine," Logan answered gruffly. John turned quickly to Jean, shooting her a questioning look.  
  
"She's in there," the woman replied, pointing to a room across the hall. "But be quiet, she might still be-"  
  
John tuned out the rest of her sentence as he made for the room Jean had indicated. Stopping at the entrance, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to block out the panic that was beginning to reclaim him. He hadn't asked Jean about her condition; he hadn't really wanted to know.  
  
Thoroughly aware of the two pairs of eyes boring into his back, John stepped quietly into the room and closed the door behind him, only opening his eyes when the door was shut tight. A heart monitor beeped, echoing off the metal walls, the irregular sound only deepening John's worry. The blonde boy's gaze lowered to the metal table at the far side of the room, eyeing the figure that lay on top of it with concern. Black hair, longer than he remembered, was strewn over a white pillow, icy blue irises concealed behind closed eyelids; pale skin glowing in the dim light. John let out a sigh, quickly regretting it once he realized how loud it was.  
  
Moving to her side, John took the girl's frail hand in his own, pushing away a stray lock of hair from her face. It was Cory. Her eyes fluttered, and dread once again coursed through John's veins. Turning her head slightly, the raven-haired girl opened her eyes, her gaze instantly locking with John's.  
  
And he smiled a true smile, for the first time in a very long while.  
  
~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~  
  
Hi people, thanks for reviewing. I'm finally finished... I think. I need you guys to tell me whether to add one more chapter. I'm thinking it will be John's POV, like the first chapter, only it takes place a few months after everything's "back to normal." I need suggestions and advice, so please review!!  
  
Pichuva11224: Yeah, it'd be awesome if he had the accent in the movie! Aussies rock. Lol. Thanks for being patient with me, I know I take a long time to update. Stupid writer's block occurs too often. Thanks for reviewing though, I appreciate it!  
  
Tobyas: Thank you, Toby, for that wonderful, descriptive, exceptional review you gave me. Could've been shorter, though. Lol, just kidding... please review again. Look at me! I'm desperate! ::puppy look:: 


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